The Fall: A DOTD inspired fanfic
by Truthiness
Summary: A tale of apocolyptic porportions, and how two men from very different walks of life cope with it.
1. Chapter 1

(Really the only connection between this and the movie is the name. I don't own that, so please don't sue me)

The Fall

Part one: The quickening

Sam Burns woke up to the morning of April Seventh like any other morning. He got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and brushed his teeth. Checking his watch, he yawned groggily as he walked to the kitchen in his small apartment to make coffee.

It was Tuesday. He hated Tuesdays.

Grumbling, he walked slowly over to the coffee maker, and began making a cup just the way he liked. Glancing over his shoulder, he reached for the small, black remote that controlled the only television in the apartment on the counter, and turned around to look at the TV. Pressing the red 'power' button, he went back to making coffee, whilst listening to the goings-on of the world. Not really paying any attention to the TV at all, Burns tended to his coffee, and sat down at the small table in the center of the room. Only one chair was positioned there, as he rarely had any guests.

Holding the white mug with both of his hands, he slowly swirled the mug underneath his nose, savoring the scent of the warm, dark liquid. Setting it onto the table, Sam sleepily looked up to the television. The newscaster spoke of a virus spreading, or something along those lines. Sam quietly groaned. Probably another fucking bird-flu outbreak. Glancing back to his coffee, Sam put the back of his hand up to the side of the mug, feeling its warmth. Deciding that it was cool enough to drink, he brought it up to his lips. The still rather warm liquid eased its way down his throat, almost instantly providing him with a burst of energy.

Standing up from his seat, Sam left his coffee and went back to his bedroom, where he removed the boxer shorts he had slept in, showered quickly and put on the clothes that he would wear to work. A black jacket and tie, as always. Grabbing his keys off the dresser, Sam exited the bedroom, and went back into the kitchen. He picked up the coffee mug, preparing to take a sip, when he heard a loud knock on the nearby door. This startled Sam, making him spill his still rather warm coffee onto his torso. Sam chuckled sarcastically, and swore through gritted teeth. Glancing at his watch, he swore again.

More knocking on the door.

Sam grumbled, and made over to the door at a brisk pace. Undoing the dead-bolt, he flung the door open. In the hallway, stood his neighbor, Bill Harrison.

"Sam! Uh buddy?"

Sam sighed. While Bill was a friend of his, his habit of being a bit bothersome was starting to drive Sam insane.

"What is it Bill? I need to get to work in… twenty minutes. That's gonna be impossible if you're gonna try to have another one of your conversations."

"Sam, you can't go to work! Haven't you seen the news?"

"Oh please, just because of some stupid new flu strain. Bill, I hardly get sick. You of all-"

"The flu? The hell? No-no-no-no. C'mon, I'll show you."

Sam furrowed his brow and looked at his watch. The clock was certainly ticking.

"How long is this going to take?"

"Trust me man. You're gonna to want to thank me. It's only gonna take a minute."

Sam shrugged. What the hell, he thought to himself. For all intents and purposes, he was already late for work.

Bill nodded and barged through the doorway, bumping into Sam. He led him back into the kitchen, where he picked up the remote and flicked the TV on. Sam's eyes widened at what he saw. A reporter sat in the back seat of a helicopter with a small camera crew. He narrated while the camera panned by the plexy-glass window.

"As you can clearly see, the freeway is in complete chaos. There are dozens of pile-ups everywhere. People are getting out of their crashed cars and getting hit, there's smoke and blood…. If you're listening out there, STAY AWAY from the freeways as best as you can. The sheriff's department issued a statement about five minutes ago saying to find a safe place, and stay there. It is imperative that you stay where you are. Going outside has proven to be extremely dangerous, and therefore something else you don't want to do. Back to you guys in the studio." Finished the helicopter reporter.

The TV cut to the studio newsroom, where two anchormen sat.

"Dwayne is absolutely right folks. It is complete chaos outside. Stay in your homes. Do NOT go to your place of work, and do NOT take your children to school. It is simply too dangerous. Do not let people into your homes, even if you know them. We don't know at this time what exactly is causing this pandemonium, so don't take any risks."

"That's right Tom." Began the female Anchorman.

"The Sheriff's department has just issued another statement, this one saying to secure means of defending yourself, if any, then to secure your home, water, food and other supplies, and in that order. The important thing here is to stay put. Moving on the streets is simply too dangerous right now, even if you are inside a vehicle. If you are on the road already for any reason, get to a rescue station at one of the following locations."

The picture cut to a scrolling list of locations, ranging from department stores, to police stations, to parking lots. After the list finished, it cut back to the studio.

"As we said earlier, if you are in your home, we cannot stress the importance of staying where you are. We recommend that you barricade your doors and windows, and head to a room in your house without windows. If your home does not have such a place, stay low, and keep quiet. If you're in a building with more than one level, then head to a higher floor. Try to avoid being on the first floor of a structure, as it presents the most risk."

Sam turned to Bill with an indifferent look in his eye.

"I don't know about you, but I gotta get going. I'll see you this afternoon, ok?"

"Are you stupid, or just plain deaf AND blind? Can't you see what's going on out there?"

"Yeah. Some more sensationalist bullshit from our wonderful media outlets. Come on man. It's all about ratings for these people. There's probably some protest that turned nasty and now you've got a bunch of environmentalists or socialists running around burning shit. The cops will take care of it. Or the Army." He added as he left.

"Suit yourself man. Stay safe!" Yelled Bill as Sam left his apartment, closing the door behind him. He realized that he hadn't bothered to change his coffee stained clothes, but then he realized that he didn't care. Walking towards the stairwell, he pushed the door open and walked down to garage level. Removing his keys out of his pockets, he slowly moved towards his Honda and pressed the remote lock.

The Honda beeped back at him, and Sam muttered some obscenity while he started the engine.

Backing out of the space the car had occupied for the last eight hours, Sam turned the car around, and put the compact sedan into 'drive'. Moving forward, he took the garage door opener out of the center console and pressed the button. The door slowly moved up, and as soon as it was up fully, Sam drove through it and out into the morning air. Turning out the street, he yawned. Once an insomniac, always an insomniac.

He turned on the radio to listen to the news, only to realize that the riot was going on. Instead he tried the local music stations, but they were also going nuts with riot bullshit.

Giving up on the radio, he switched to stereo, and the sound of the blue Oyster Cult filtered through his car.

'-ons don't fear the reaper  
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain  
We can be like they are

Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper  
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the Reaper  
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the Reaper' Sang the speakers, while Sam tapped his fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat.

He observed the streets, but they were mostly empty of pedestrians. There were only a few vehicles on the road, which Sam found odd. This was the time of morning rush hour, aka Dante's seventh circle of hell.

Where was everyone? Why did Sam care?

They probably, Sam thought, had gotten the piss scared out of them. They read the news, and stayed in their homes. Typical behavior of the typical American sheeple. Easily frightened, mate constantly and congregate in groups.

Taking a right, he put the air conditioning on low, and rolled down the window. He was hit by the morning's soft humidity. The calm before the storm. If the storm was 105 degree heat. La-la land in the summer…

Meanwhile, at the Crossroad's indoor shopping mall about five miles due east of Sam's current position….

Jack Gibbons, along with several other part time FEMA disaster workers stood in a large tent that had been erected in the Crossroads Mall's parking lot. There, they attended to people who had been affected by one of the riots that had now been occurring in Los Angeles, and many other cities worldwide. So far, the authorities hadn't been sure about the time the riots started to occur (or why for that matter), but they believed that they first started at least two days prior. It wasn't until now that they had escalated from a minor law enforcement problem, most cases being dealt with by civilians, to what was now considered a global military issue.

As Jack applied disinfectant to a bite wound that one victim of the riot had sustained on his wrist, Jack saw several dark, camouflaged Army trucks drive on by. Probably National Guard troops: about damn time they got here, Jack thought to himself. Finished applying disinfectant, he took a bandage and wrapped it around the unfortunate man's wrist, before putting some tape down on top to make it stick.

"Well, you definitely won't be needing stitches. There's really no harm in the wound now. Just don't pick at it, ok?" He said to the man, who looked like he was probably a High school teacher. The man nodded, and left the tent. Gene, another one of the disaster workers approached Jack quickly, with a worried look on his face.

"Jack, we got a problem with one of the people that just came in."

"What kind of problem?"

"Here, let me show you." Said Gene, ushering his superior past a large crate of medical supplies and out of the tent. Outside, there were several picnic tables set up, where more disaster workers, civilians, several uniformed police officers, and even a couple of National Guard soldiers in full battledress were. At the far side of the makeshift M.A.S.H. unit were several FEMA workers and a couple of cops. Gene ushered Jack over to the crowd, and showed him the scene.

There was a man, probably in his mid-fifties, in a wife beater and jeans. He had a deep wound in his neck, which was flowing with massive amounts of blood. He inched towards the small group slowly, shuffling. Although he didn't say it, Jack though he looked drunk.

The two officers that were there took out their electric stun batons, and held them at their sides while the disaster workers tried their best to control the situation.

"Sir, hello?" Asked one of the FEMA guys. The man didn't answer. He simply kept on shuffling towards them.

"Sir, you've been hurt. You're probably disoriented. Would you like to be assisted?" Asked the same man. Once again, the man completely disregarded what was said. He just kept on shuffling towards them. One of the cops said something to the main man in charge of the group, who nodded.

Both officers approached the man slowly, as not to provoke him. One of them took out a pair of handcuffs, while the other removed his taser-gun out of it's holster.

One of the cops tried to cuff the man, but the man resisted, looking disoriented. Instead he lunged at the officer. The man managed to get out of the way, but the other officer took action. Leveling the taser-gun, he fired two small metal prods into the drunk. Surprisingly, considering that this was an especially powerful taser-gun, there was no effect. The man shook a little, but he kept on coming.

Both officers went after the drunk with their batons, after he tried to lunge them for a second time. They managed to get him down onto the ground, and hit him with their metal and heavy plastic rods multiple times, but the man kept on trying to get up.

Looking to Gene with a slight look of disinterest on his face, Jack turned around. Walking back towards the group of white medical tents, he massaged his tired face.

"So that was what you interrupted me for? Is that it Gene?"

"Hey, I thought you should know man. You seem like you're one of the few people whose got his head screwed on tight around here. Just thought you might wanna know if something was going down."

"Yeah, well, I'm not the guy in charge. You wanna talk to a man with authority, then talk to Dietz, or Captain Trips. Not Jack, the lowly volunteer who joined up a couple weeks ago because service was tax deductible, and a really cool t-shirt also came with the deal."

"Whatever you say man. Just thought that-"

"Yeah, well you thought wrong. I'm busy Gene. Don't have time for useless bullshit. See you later." Interrupted Jack, stepping back into his tent. The patients that he and some of the other FEMA people and disaster medics had taken in for treatment seemed to have gotten worse. Surprising, since he had only been gone three minutes at the very most.

Stepping next to a doctor wearing a plastic facemask, which covered his mouth and nose, he looked over one of the victims.

"What's been happening? They look like they've taken a turn for the worse. And why are you wearing that mask?"

"We got news from the CDC place back in Atlanta, Georgia. They say that there's a very large possibility that some sort of illness is tied to all of the riots. Wouldn't surprise me a whole lot, if that turns out to be true." Finished the bearded man, who placed a stethoscope on the man's horizontal chest. His breathing was raspy and getting slower.

"Would do you say that?" Asked Jack with a puzzled look on his face.

"Because, all of these patients are showing symptoms of what seems very similar to the flu. Lot like the flu to be truthful. Rising fevers, vomiting, loss of energy. And there's something else that's really weird. Only the people that have been BITTEN are showing any symptoms. How's that for strange?"

"Well, I'm not a doctor. Not by a longshot. But are you suggesting that these cases of illnesses, which all seem an awful lot like the flu, may be contributing to all of the riots?"

"Now you're really using your head. Tell me something else Jack. How do you think the Army got here so fast? Why do you think they got here so fast? What possible reason do you think they could have?"

"This is obviously a national security concern. The Governor over in Sacramento okayed military support. So have a lot of other Governors. You're not suggesting that the Army had something to do with this whole mess? Like some sort of germ warfare thing gone outta control? Because if you're going to ask me, that sounds like the plot of some lame B-movie."

"I'm keeping my options open. I suggest you do the same. In the meantime, we observe these folks' symptoms. If they worsen or improve, we'll know what we're really dealing with. But my gut's telling me that there's something else going on here. Something that the politicians, the Army or even the police isn't saying. Since we're civilians, I doubt that we're going to hear anything, but if you do, tell me. I'd like to know everything that I can." Finished the doctor.

"Sure thing Dr. Flagg." Said Jack, leaving the tent.

On a different side of town, Sam pulled into the parking lot of his place of work, anticipating having to search for a spot. Almost miraculously, all but two were empty. Taking a brief moment to thank the gods of parking, Sam pulled into a lot, and put the car into park. Opening his door, he grabbed his utilitarian briefcase off the front seat and stood onto the damp pavement.

Slamming the door behind him, he walked briskly towards the office, with a small smile on his face.

Judging on all that fuss about the flu, he might not get in any trouble today. Especially since he was pretty much the only guy that showed up for work.

Walking down a sparsely lit corridor, decorated only by insipid "motivational" posters, he turned a corner. Walking through a maze of cubicles, he turned on his desk lamp, and booted up his computer.

He heard the sound of footsteps on the other side of the room, and saw that it was his boss, Mr. Jenkins. Ah, Mr. Jenkins. What an unpleasant surprise…

"Sam! Sam!" He called out, the overweight man panting somewhat as he jogged towards Sam's nondescript cubicle.

"Yes Mr. Jenkins?" Sam inquired, wiping his wry smile off his face.

"Thank god you're here. Only you and Cathy showed up. This is a freaking disaster." He uttered, still panting.

"Everyone must have been getting scared about the flu. I really don't see what-"

"The-the flu? What are you talking about? There isn't any flu. There's a huge riot out there man. The police are saying that it's bigger than Watts, and it's everywhere. This is huge. People are saying that guys with guns and spacesuits are everywhere. To be honest, I'm not all that surprised that only you two showed up for work. Most offices and schools are closed anyway."

Sam nodded, looking at the man, but not paying much attention anyway.

"Since you and Cathy showed up, I'll pass along a good word to the higher ups. They always seem to reward people who come to work when these sort of things happen."

Sam kept on nodding, still not paying much attention. Mr. Jenkins turned to leave, but then much to Sam's chagrin, he remembered something else. Turning around to face Sam for a second time, his mouth opened.

"By the way, did you get a chance to look over those TCP reports?"

"Not yet. First thing I was going to do."

"Super. Thanks again for coming Sam."

"No problem Mr. Jenkins." Said Sam in the most kiss-ass tone he could without it being too obvious. Jenkins, the Dumbass he was, didn't notice. The guy was on a serious everlasting powertrip, Sam thought as the man walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Sam opened up a couple of windows on his computer. Mostly boring work stuff. Then, he discreetly took a small CD case out of his briefcase. Opening it, he placed an unmarked CD into the computer tray. Closing it, he waited patiently whilst the computer booted up. A window popped up, and Sam leaned forward, popping his knuckles.

Counter strike was fun, but it was even more fun when he played it AND got paid at the same time. Thing was, everyone around here was so wrapped up in their boring little lives to notice.

Back at the FEMA tents in the mall parking lot…

Jack saw the situation deteriorate before his very eyes. The man whom they had thought to be a drunk and wounded turned out to have something very wrong with him. He had attacked several people, and the policemen onsite rushed to bring him down.

Regardless of how many times they shocked the guy with stun guns, he kept on getting up, and charging them. It wasn't until he mauled an innocent bystander did they shoot him down in a volley of shotguns and pistols. After a brief moment of relief, the unthinkable happened.

More people descended upon the rescue station, numbering in the dozens. The small detachment of National Guard troops that stood guard outside the tents joined into the fray, spraying the attackers with automatic gunfire.

Not used to combat situations, Jack dove for cover in one of the medical tents. As if things could get worse, some of the paitents began to go crazy and attack other hurt and wounded, along with doctors and FEMA personnel. The scene turned into a bloodbath as several soldiers in military fatigues rushed into the tent and fired in a spray pattern at the frenzied mob.

Several of the attackers went down, as did some people who made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The remaining attackers however, charged the guardsmen, and a close quarters fight broke out. One of the men (all of which were wearing gas masks and other gear associated with biological and chemical weapons) took down a janitor with a bayonet lug through the eye socket. The other two soldiers took down a second attacker with repeated butts from their rifles.

Wanting desperately to get out of the scene of carnage, Jack crawled on his belly out of the tent, only to see that what was happening outside was exponentially worse.

More attackers arrived, and their ranks now numbered around a hundred. Some policemen and guardsmen had taken cover behind a makeshift barricade, and blasted away at the new arrivals, but it was little use. Even with the high powered assault rifles and 12 gauge shotguns they all carried, they only managed to down a fraction of the attackers before they were swarmed and torn to pieces.

Standing up, Jack looked for a place to run. He supposed he could try the mall, as that wasn't that far away. But there was always the chance he could get shot by a panicked officer or soldier. Not a chance he wanted to take.

Running around the tent he had been in earlier, he came face to face with the barrel of a Remington pump action. The gun's owner was a police officer.

"Move and I waste you." He hissed, backing up slowly. He didn't see the bloodied person behind him, and before Jack could swear, the cop was bitten on the neck from behind. His own blood spewing everywhere in an almost comical fashion, the man's face lit up in shock. Dropping his shotgun down onto the dirty pavement, he tried to fight off the rioter, but it was of little use.

Trying to focus the man's screaming in agony out of his mind, Jack's eyes floated to the gun that now stood on the ground. Picking it up, he tried to recall the memories he had of hunting waterfowl with his grandfather in Wyoming.

He pulled back the action, loading a shell into the chamber. Remembering the safety, he flicked the button into the 'armed' position. Now with means to defend himself, he redirected his attention to the cop and the enraged psycho. Bringing the sight up to his eye, he waited for a shot. It had to be just….

He squeezed the trigger, and the weapon recoiled into his shoulder. A flock of birdshot found it's way into the chest of the rioter, sending it backwards.

Perfect…

The man was simply stunned however, and he soon began to charge his greatest threat in the area. Pumping another shell into the chamber, Jack fired a second time. Now, he hit the man just below the shoulder. His arm, which now held by a bloody thread, threatened to fall off. Still, the man was undeterred. Swearing loudly, Jack pumped the shotgun yet again. This time, he aimed a little higher. A sound of thunder, and all that remained of the highly persistent man's head was a bloody stump and pink mist. His body fell to the ground with a sickening thud, and moved no more.

Rushing to the wounded officer's side, he saw the extensiveness of the bite.

"Oh god… Jesus…" He uttered. The man was still alive. Barely. He tried to speak, but only blood came up. Choking, his eyes started twitching, and his body convulsed. This was, without a doubt, some of the strangest behavior he had ever seen in a bite victim. After a few more moments of this, the cop stopped moving. Wincing, Jack looked to the man's belt, where there was a loaded Beretta handgun.

Reluctantly, Jack eased the man's equipment belt off his body, and secured it onto his. He wouldn't be needing it anymore.

Back at Sam's office…

Sitting at his desk, Sam sipped crappy tasting coffee. He had minimized counter strike for the meantime, getting in some actual work. The dreaded TCP reports of which he hated with much gusto were a total pain in the ass to work on. He loathed every second he spent on them.

Looking away from the harsh glare of his computer screen, Sam massaged his already tired brow. God he hated these TCP reports.

Turning back to the monitor, he went back to scanning through the most recent ones.

Same old, same old. All of these lines of data were the same, and frankly he thought-

A scream pierced the quiet office atmosphere. Sam was startled, and jumped slightly. Standing up from his seat, he peered over the edge of his cubical, trying to see if he could find out what was happening.

Unfortunately, he couldn't see what was going on. He could hear it on the other hand.

The scream was definitely feminine. That was the only thing he could be sure about. Very faintly, he thought he heard the sound of someone pleading, but to little avail. There was another scream, this one vaguely masculine, and a crash. Probably glass. More screaming, and some thumps.

The shit scared out of him, Sam paid no more attention to his computer and his job. Looking to his feet, he fumbled around with his drawers in his desk, looking for the maglight he kept at work.

Finding the large flashlight, he turned it on, and shined it around the mostly dark office. All of the noise had stopped, and Sam was considerably worried. This definitely had something to do with that flu business. He was very sure of that.

Turning a corner, he almost gasped when he saw a crimson streak of blood that was smeared across the floor. Doing his best to keep it all together, Sam inched his way down the hall, apprehensive about whatever he would find.

Avoiding some broken glass on the floor (most likely connected to that crash he heard earlier), Sam walked down the remainder of the corridor, and rounded another corner.

He found himself facing his boss, who was kneeling down in front of a prone Cathy. Sighing of relief, Sam tapped Jenkins on the shoulder. At first he didn't respond. He simply kept on hovering over his underling.

Sam dared to tap the man again. Two seconds later, he would regret that decision.

Jenkins spun around, his entire face covered in blood and gore. Parts of Cathy's body were revealed, and Sam recoiled in terror.

Her face was GONE man. Her face was FUCKING GONE. All that remained was a bloody mess.

Snarling, Jenkins stood up and charged Sam, who instinctively batted him with the heavy flashlight. This stunned Jenkins slightly, and Sam made a light-footed dash to the front door of his former place of work. The place had certainly gone to hell in a bright, pretty yellow basket. 'A tisket, a tasket, that girl took my yellow basket' Sam sung to himself in his head.

His brief moment of victory soon vanished, when Jenkins gave chase.

Now, Jenkins was a heavyset man. Fat, to be honest. Running at a speed that could be considered 'slow' to most people, he easily tired himself out, often getting cramps. Sam and his fellow co-workers often theorized that their boss weighed at least three hundred pounds.

However, Jenkins was now running at the speed of an Olympic athelete, and he showed no signs of slowing. Swearing, Sam picked up the pace, dashing nearer to the exit. Jenkins was gaining on him.

Panting, Sam didn't even take the time to push the door open. Simply kicking it wide open, he ran out into the still wet parking lot. The sight that unfolded before his eyes was a little too much to bear.

Off in the distance, smoke filtered off the skyscrapers in the downtown area. Helicopters swarmed the sky like enraged birds, and sirens from emergency vehicles blared everywhere. Hell in a handbasket indeed.

Sam's little view of the carnage was interrupted by Jenkins, who burst through a window without much personal concern for well being. Swearing, Sam panicked, running back to his car. Taking the keys out of his pocket, Sam dashed for the driver's side. Pressing down onto the remote lock, the car beeped back at him. He'd never been so glad to hear it.

Opening the front door, he quickly sat down, and put the keys into the ignition. Jenkins was right behind him, and tried to barge his way into the car, but Sam had the upper hand. Kicking him away with a loafer, Sam put the car into reverse, and backed out of his parking space, his still open door knocking down his beserk boss onto the wet concrete. Sam heard a sickening thud as the man's head slammed into the pavement, and blood started to pour from his head.

In far too much of a hurry to care, Sam put his car into drive, and got the hell outta there…

Back at the mall 'rescue' station…

"Gene? Where are ya man!" Yelled out Jack, the twelve gauge in his hands. He was still in the mall parking lot, and there was still some semblance of a fight going on between the authorities and the rioters. The remaining SWAT, CDC, FEMA and National Guard troops however, were spread out very thinly, and there was little co-operation going on between all four parties. All that Jack was concerned about, was finding his friend. After that task was over, they'd get the hell outta there. Head for the hills, so to speak…

Blasting one rioter in the chest with the shotty, Jack worked the pump action, and turned around a portable trailer that the CDC had been using as a small field lab. Nothing. Turning back around, he nearly crashed into a National Guard soldier, who was in full battledress. The soldier held an M-16 assault rifle, which was pointed squarely at Jack.

"Hey man, I'm on your side!" Said Jack, putting his gun down. The soldier slowly backed up, looking around for anything that might pose a problem.

"You trying to get outta here?" She asked, her gun lowering somewhat. Jack was somewhat surprised.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the only person I've run into with their head screwed on. Listen, we gotta get outta here. This entire operation has gone to hell."

Jack nodded.

"Oh.. ok. Where do you have in mind?" He asked, picking his shotty back up again. The female soldier pointed to the mall with her rifle. Jack nodded in agreement.

"Alright. I have to find somebody first."

"But everyone's dead man… it's bloodbath city here… If we don't get out, we're gonna die in a way I'm not too keen on."

"I know, I just have to know if he's okay or not."

The soldier nodded, in minor understanding. Flipping the selector switch on her rifle, she gestured for Jack to follow her. Shouldering her automatic rifle, she shot several rioters in front of them, while Jack covered their rear, taking out one rioter. Swearing, the woman pressed down on the magazine release, and slammed a fresh clip into the receiver.

"Gene! Where are you!" Jack yelled out.

"Jack! Is that you?" Cried out a voice over the screaming, moans and gunfire. Jack's attention was alerted, and almost ran out to find his friend, but was stopped by the soldier. Holding her left arm up in front of him, she slowly advanced, weapon at the ready. Ushering him forward, she knelt down onto the ground, covering the area.

Taking her cue, Jack ran forward, looking for Gene.

"Where are you?" He called out. Gene soon responded by popping his head up from on top of the trailer. Jack's spirits soared, and he showed his friend he was armed.

"Come on buddy. We're getting out of here." Said Jack, pointing to one of the FEMA vans that was parked nearby. Nodding, Gene began to climb down.


	2. Chapter 2

Part two: Hell unleashed

On the other side of town…

"Shit! Holy Christ!" Exclaimed Sam, as he swerved out of the way to avoid three cars which had just suddenly collided with each other. Regaining his composure… somewhat, Sam made a hard left, down Rainy street. He was only a few more blocks away from his apartment, and he wasn't planning on stopping the car. Aside from the fucking PSYCHO rioters, there might be people desperate enough to take his car. And being on foot wasn't a thought he relished much. Not an itty-bitty bit.

Moving to the left to avoid an exploded firetruck, Sam was taken aback when he collided into someone who had been trying to cross the street. Stopping, he stood in his seat, wide eyed. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit he repeated constantly in his mind. He hoped that the person he hit would simply get up. Just get up and leave, with a smile on his or her face. Just get up and leave. Just get up and leave. Just get up and leave. Several rioters shambled towards his car with ill intent, and Sam panicked.

"Sorry I hit you man, but I gotta FUCKING GO!" Yelled out the terrified accountant, putting the petal to the metal. The Toyota's engine roared, and the car zoomed forward across the pavement. Still somewhat in a state of shock, Sam didn't exactly take the time to use coherent thinking. He just kept on going, and going as fast as his automobile would carry him. Neglecting to notice some burning wreckage laying in the road, Sam winced as the car hit it at around sixty miles an hour. The car flipped over onto it's side, rolling for another two hundred feet or so. Poor Sam was tossed around the inside like a ragdoll, powerless to stop his tumble. When the car did stop, it crashed into a lightpole, and finally stopped.

The airbag had gone off, and Sam's face, like the rest of his body, was covered in cuts and bruises.

The car itself had landed on it's roof, and the only thing that held him in place was his seatbelt. Groaning from the pain, Sam undid the safety belt, and crashed to the ceiling. Wincing in pain, he stood in shock for a moment, before having the foresight to grab his keys out of the ignition (where the keys to his apartment were located). Opening the driver's side door, he crawled on out onto the pavement, still in a moderate daze. Standing to his feet, he looked around his surroundings. From the looks of it, he was only a block or so from his building. Emboldened, he started to run. Not only to reach his home, but to avoid getting attacked.

Just keep running, just keep running he repeated to himself while panting.

Back at the mall…

"Go, go, GO!" Yelled Alice, the soldier, as Gene got the van started. Standing at the back of the van, she held her military issue rifle and ushered in a couple of other people that they had managed to rescue. Seeing some bloodied rioters running in her direction, she eased off a couple of shots before closing the doors behind her. Slinging the rifle around her shoulder, she sat down at a vacant seat and held on for dear life. Gene, who had seen far too many action movies with extravagant car chases, pulled off a fancy stunt which involved the van backing through several FEMA tents, and then swerving around, taking out of couple of rioters. Jack nearly lost his lunch.

Putting the van into 'drive', Gene pressed on forward, and drove towards the mall. Heading towards the parking garage's entrance, he gunned the engine as he broke through the gate next to the toll both, and swerved into the garage. Luckily, there were no rioters here. Thank god… They were everywhere else.

Gene swerved the van around several times, traveling up two levels. Each time he turned, Jack held onto whatever was bolted down. But that didn't stop him from flailing wildly about. Swearing, Gene went as fast as he could as he saw what was up ahead. Some jackass had started to park his car, but couldn't go through with it. So the SUV's large ass was sticking out into his way, and Gene didn't have any room to maneuver. Swearing again, he braced himself, and called out to everyone else.

"Hold on! This is gonna be BA-AD!"

The van smacked into the rear side of the SUV, sending the parked car into a Subaru that was in the next space. The van itself wasn't in horrid shape, as it had been traveling fast enough, but the front end wasn't going to win any beauty pageants.

Taking another right, the Van finally emerged on the top level. Parking near the Mall entrance, Gene turned the engine off, and put the car into 'park'.

Everyone else piled out, running for the doors. Jumping out of the back, Jack pumped a fresh shell into his weapon, and stood his ground while the others broke into the locked doors.

Finally, Alice swore under her breath, and simply shot the lock with a single round from her gun. Shrugging, Gene opened the door, and everyone filtered inside.

"Offfgh…" Grunted Sam, as he pushed open the door to his apartment building. Much to his dismay, he had attracted a small crowd of those fucking rioters, who pursued him to no end. Locking the door behind him, he hoped it would hold, as the rioters started to beat on it with their bloodied hands.

Running down the corridor, Sam stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the call button several times in quick sucession, taking a moment to look back over his shoulder at the rioters. Their constant banging on the door was splintering the glass. At this rate, they'd be inside soon.

Swearing violently, Sam rushed into the elevator as soon as it arrived. Pushing the 'close door' button, he panted nervously at the rear of the vehicle as it ascended to his floor. All he had to do, was get to his room. He had a baseball bat in there, and he'd be damned if any fucking rioter was gonna tear him up. No sir…

The elevator door opened, and Sam rushed out into the hallway, bumping into his neighbor, Bill.

"Hey man, what's going on?" He asked in his loopy sort of way. Sam looked at him curiously, and then spoke.

"There's some crazy assed shit going on out there. Have you left the building?"

"No way man. I've been here the whole time. Jesus, it looks like you've seen a ghost. You want something to drink?"

"No… Thanks. I saw my boss EATING one of my coworkers."

"Shit. That's hardcore. What, was he on PCP or something? That shit screws up your head. I heard this one story about this guy that took PCP, and he ate his fucking dog. Can you believe that shit man?"

"It wasn't FUCKING PCP. This is something else."

"Chill the fuck out man… Anyway, this sounds serious."

"Yeah, but we're on the sixth floor of our building. We should be ok. Have you seen anyone else this morning?" Asked Sam, his composure leveling out somewhat. Nodding, Bill responded.

"Yeah. Molly and Jim next door. Everyone else must have gone to work."

Sam was worried. Massaging his forehead, he looked back up to Bill.

"The stairs. Have you blocked the stairs?"

"I didn't think to do that. Why?"

Sam pointed to the TV, which was showing footage of stumbling, bloodied rioters.

"Um, maybe because of the bloodied homicidal maniacs outside? There's a bunch on the first floor by the lobby. We may have to deal with them later, if it comes to that."

Meanwhile, the newscasters looked increasingly tense.

"Uh, I've just gotten word from my producer that we're receiving a live uplink to the situation in New York City. We're going live to one of our affiliates in New Jersey, near Manhattan..."

The screen went black for a couple of seconds, before the picture came back on. A man in a suit, with Sandy blonde hair, stood with a microphone in hand. From the foreground, he appeared to be on some kind of boat. Probably a Ferry. Off in the background, was the George Washington Bridge, which was full of beeping cars. Off towards the city, the mournful howl of emergency sirens, along with an old air raid siren complimented the smoke that rose from some of the streets of buildings. Faint automatic gunfire could be heard as the reporter spoke.

"In the eight years I've been a journalist, I've never quite seen anything of this magnitude before. I was at Fallujah, I was at Katrina, I was at 9/11. Those events seem to be miniscule in comparison to what I'm seeing today. From what we can still tell, thousands of people are attempting to flee the city, causing massive traffic jams. Uh, public transportation is so swamped right now, that it's barely functioning. The subway, the bus system, pretty much everything. One mode of transport that HAS managed to remain successful at this point is Ferry travel, but as you can see, there's a large police and port authority here with us today."

The screen flashed back to the people in L.A.

"Can you tell us anything else about the situation?"

"Not really. There seem to be at least three government choppers that go into the city every hour, and that's only what we can tell. As far as soldiers are concerned, the military seems to maintain a solely airborne presence. There have also been some rumors that the ends of bridges and tunnels are being closed off by Federal troops. Uh, this was shot about an hour ago by an amateur film maker inside the Eisenhower tunnel." Said the reporter, giving hand signals to his crew. After several seconds of the sound of someone fidgeting with equipment in the background, the image changed to that of a camcorder. The picture was shaky, but that wasn't the main focus of the footage.

Car after car was backed up, bumped to bumper. The sounds of car horns filled the tunnel, along with angry expletives. Soldiers in biological warfare dress stood at the far end, wielding large rifles and machine guns. In front of them sat several police issue stop-gates, while behind them were several armored vehicles, bustling with machine guns and other assorted weapons. Several civilians got out of their cars, and attempted to cross the barricade on foot, but were gunned down without compunction by the soldiers. A mass panic ensued, with several hundred people screaming and running. Automatic gunfire filled the air as chunks of concrete and plaster chips, along with glass from the cars flew in every which direction. The people that remained in their cars tried to flee, but were gunned down with machine gun bursts before they could move a few feet. The ones that weren't shot by the troops ended up causing fender benders, trapping people into an insane maze of smoke, debris and screams. Before Bill and Sam could see any more, the reporters back on the ferry brought themselves back on the air with glum looks on their faces.

The people back in the studio looked shocked.

"Jesus. Were those AMERICAN troops?" Asked the lead anchor to his Colleague.

"Yes, yes they were. The man that shot that footage barely escaped with his life. Thank god he gave us the tape."

"Yeah. As many people as possible have gotta see this. Can we roll that footage again? Marsha, will-"

The anchorman was unable to finish his sentence, as black clad SWAT policemen kicked open the doors to the studio, guns at the ready.

"Shut that equipment OFF!" Yelled one of the SWAT troopers to the newscaster, who remained moderately well composed. The screen was now spilt down the middle, ala a talk show, with the reporter in New York on one side, and with the Newscaster in Los Angeles on the other.

"We have a RIGHT to be on the air, and if you fascists are gonna come in here and-"

The cameras kept rolling. Sam passed a glance over to Bill, who bit down onto his lip, looking at the television pensively.

"Shut the FUCKING cameras OFF! Now!"

"Don't listen to them! Keep rolling!"

More shouting filled the small room. Then gunfire. The cameraman was one of the first people hit, causing the damaged equipment to fall to the floor. Like a miracle, it kept working, still managing to roll film. The footage that it picked up was one of a slaughter, with the yells of people getting shot to death bouncing off the walls. Finally, there was one last burst of gunfire, and the studio turned to static, soon replaced with a 'please stand by message'. Horrified by what he had just witnessed, the Reporter swallowed, trying to regain his composure.

"Well, Ladies and Gentlemen. There you have it. Conclusive proof of what atrocities have been taking place today. What you have just witnessed was real, not a macabre practical joke. The press is being silenced by our government, and-"

The man stopped in mid-speech as the thump-thump-thump of a helicopter neared. Swallowing, he turned his crew around, and continued to report. As the chopper came into view, it was recognized as a dark green Army Blackhawk. Its doors were open, exposing the crew chiefs, who manned rotary chain guns. The reporter had to yell over the sound of the rotor blades, as the chopper came to a halt over the ship, hovering in midair. He was soon interrupted by a soldier wearing a gasmask inside the chopper, who held a megaphone.

"In the name of the UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT, I order you to shut down your equipment!" Yelled the airman. Turning around to face the chopper, the reporter gave them the bird, still a little in shock of what had recently transpired. Surely he thought that they wouldn't take action. They wouldn't, right?

He was quickly proved wrong, as the chain guns fired up, hundreds of bullets tearing up the deck of the Ferryboat like a swarm of enraged killer bees. The reporter and several bystanders were hit, and practically exploded. It wasn't long before the cameraman expired, as did the camera he held on his shoulders. The screen went to fuzz for several moments, before being replaced with a 'Please stand by message'. Sitting with his friend from school, Sam stared at the television for about thirty more seconds, before he turned it off. Looking to Bill, he chewed his tongue, before looking to the windows and doors. After a minute of silence, he spoke out very softly.

"We're going to board up every single window on this floor. We're going to turn off the elevator, and barricade the stairway. Do you understand?"

Bill simply stared into space, not recognizing his friend was even next to him.

"BILL! Do you have your shit together?"

Bill nodded.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Ok, glad to hear it. I need you to keep your lid on TIGHT. You got it? In the meantime, let's figure out how to barricade the stairwell."

"Ok. We're obviously gonna need something to block it with."

"The coke machine the hallway should do it. Help me move it, will you?"

Bill nodded. The two men left Sam's apartment and ran out into the hallway. Coming up to the older model coke machine, Sam and Bill tried to figure out how to move it.

"Well, how are we gonna move this thing without it falling onto us?" Asked a somewhat concerned Sam.

"Is it on wheels?" Asked Bill.

"I don't know. Only one way to find out." Said Sam, getting down on his knees, and looking underneath the machine.

"Yeah, it is. How else would repair men move it?" He asked.

Bill shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm not a coke machine expert."

"Well, neither am I. But I figure, if we move it against the wall, with one of us pushing it forward, and the other keeping it against the wall, we should be ok. That way, the damn thing doesn't crush us."

Bill nodded. It was a solid plan.

"Just one thing. The stairwell door opens inward. Someone could still open the door and push the coke machine over. We don't have the keys to the stairwell either."

Sam thought.

"Uh Bill? I don't think that this coke machine is gonna cut it by itself. What if we threw it, along with other bulky objects into the stair well. That would pretty much block everyone trying to get up here." Said Sam, scratching his throat.

"Ok. We're going to need to talk to Molly and Jim. We need their help."

Bill nodded, and the two men left the coke machine to idle while they marched to meet the pair. Sam knocked loudly on the door, and it was soon answered by Tim.

"Hey guys. Jesus, it's really bad out there." He said, with a tinge of worry in his voice.

"Yeah, we know." Began Sam.

"Listen, we're barricading the stairs with bulky stuff, so our floor will be ok. Can you spare any chairs, or tables? Anything like that would be helpful."

Tim scratched the back of his ear. Looking back up to Sam and Bill, he nodded.

"Ok. I'll get you some furniture. I'll be down to help you in a sec. By the way, have you seen anyone else?" He asked.

Bill shook his head.

"No man. Just you, Sam and your wife. Everyone else must have gone to work."

Tim nodded.

"Hmmm…. weird. Well, I'll go get those things you need." He said, closing his door.

Sam turned to Bill to speak.

"Go to your room, and get all the chairs you can. Alright?"

Bill nodded.

"When should we meet again?" He asked, eyeing the stairwell door nervously.

Sam glanced at his watch.

"Ten minutes. Alright?"

Bill nodded.

"It's gonna be ok man. Just fine." Comforted Sam as he left.

A little while later….

Sam dragged the last chair from his room to the hallway by the stairwell door. He was met by all the other neighbors, also with lots of furniture. Looking to Bill, he tossed him a wooden baseball bat. Bill eyed him strangely.

"A baseball bat? Whatever do you want me to do with this?"

"C'mon Bill, think. I need you to watch our backs while Tim, Molly and I put stuff in the hallway. Didn't you ever play war games when you were a kid?"

Bill looked at the ground sheepishly. It was rather obvious.

"Alright. We need to position the chairs in a way that you can't move through. Like a puzzle that locks together." He said, gesturing with his hands.

"Well, if we put them in the most haphazardly way possible, then don't you think that it might lock together? 'Cause I don't know about you, but planning chair by chair is gonna take a while, and we don't know if some of those rioter guys are gonna come stumbling up those steps."

Sam reluctantly nodded. The guy had a point.

"Alright, new plan. We haphazardly throw chairs into the stairwell. He said, picking up a plastic lawn chair which used to exist on Bill's balcony, and throwing it through the door. The others joined in, and in a rather short amount of time, they had finished.

"Ok, for the grand finale, we need to push this coke machine out too." Sam explained, patting it with his hand.

Tim nodded in agreement.

"How are we gonna move it?" He asked, eyeing the bulky machine with a look of fear in his eye.

"Simple. You, Molly and Bill keep it from tipping over, while I push it."

"Woah-woah-woah. Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?" Asked Molly.

Bill gave a blank stare.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"What about those warning stickers you always see on those machines? Y'know, the ones that tell you not to try and move 'em, with the risk of death? I've read that there have been people that tried to steal soda from those, but it only ended up crushing him."

"Molly, you're forgetting that the guy who tried to steal the soda was acting alone. There are four of us. I'm sure that we'll be ok."

Defeated, Molly nodded.

"Ok then. Let's move this damn thing."

And with that, they go into position. Sam pushed the machine to the doorway, while the others made sure that it didn't tip over. When it was in place, Sam gave it a hard kick, pushing it through the door, and tumbling door the stairs, smashing into the other furnishings, and creating a large, impassible blockade of stuff.

Sam, panting, looked to the others.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I could use a nap right about now. I'll see you in a bit. Gimme a holler if you hear anything new on the news." He said, retiring to his room.

That night….

Sam woke up to the sound of it. At first, he didn't know what to make of it. It couldn't have been the wind, as when he opened the small window he had in his bathroom. It certainly wasn't the wind. Shutting the window, he reached for the light switch. Flicking it into the on position, he grimaced when the room wasn't illuminated.

"Shit. Power outage." He swore, slumping down onto the toilet seat.

Massaging his forehead, he decided to meet up with the others. Knowing that the power would be out everywhere else, he went to his closet, where he grabbed his utility box. Opening the lock, he grabbed the Mag-light flashlight, and checked the batteries. The thing worked alright, so he left his apartment and knocked on Bill's door.

A minute or so later, a groggy looking Bill answered the door.

"Hi. Hear anything new?" He asked, yawning.

Sam shook his head.

"Power's out."

"No kidding? Shit. You think this is a related incident, or isolated?"

"You get three guesses, and the first two don't count. Isn't it obvious? Something really bad has happened out there. I mean, the TV's out, along with everything else in the building."

"Christ. What about the plumbing?"

Sam shook his head.

"I haven't checked it. Does the plumbing system in this building use power?"

"I don't know man. Should it?"

"Beats the hell outta me. I'm no plumber."

"Well, the important thing is to watch how much water you're using. Before long, we might run out of that too."

"What should I do? Fill my tub and sink?"

Sam nodded.

"That's a solid plan. Also, with the power out, the food in our refrigerators is gonna be turned into shit within the next few hours. Refrigerators are insulated, so they should keep some cold air inside, but only open them if you need to. Got it?"

Bill nodded.

"You want me to tell the others?" He asked, scratching his neck.

"It wouldn't hurt. I'd also find out what your battery situation is. The power may not come back on for a while, and until it does, we're going to have to depend on flashlights, candles and mirrors. Just save your power."

"Ok. What about food? I have lots of tuna fish. What about you?"

"I have lots of soup. Enough for a few weeks."

"You always liked soup."

"Is that a bad thing?" Asked Sam, raising his eyebrow.

"No, it's just that it's nice to eat something that doesn't come out of a can every once in a while. That's all."

"Hey, don't knock it unless you try it."

"I do my best. I'm gonna go tell the others now. What are you gonna do?"

"Oh, I'm just going to make sure that I have all of the basics."

Bill turned back to go into the apartment, but stopped.

"Wait, do you still have that CB radio?"

"It doesn't matter now. I threw it out ages ago. Besides, it wouldn't do us a lot of good. It ran on power from an outlet."

"Damn. Can't blame a guy for asking."

"Have you tried your phone?"

"My cell? No… I haven't."

"If you get some time later you might want to see if you can get a signal from one of those cell towers and find out what the hell is going on in the world. One of them is bound to still be working."

"Ok. If I have time, I'll check it out."

"Good luck."

"Yeah, you too."

The two men went their separate ways.

The next morning…

When Sam woke up, he tried the lights again. Nothing. The power inside the building was still dead. Swearing, he got up from his bed and rubbed his eyes. That's when he heard it for the second time. The other day, he had just dismissed the noise as something coming from the plumbing. But the more he though about it, the fewer plausible explanations he could come up with. Taking a few steps to his window, Sam undid the blinds and peered out onto the streets below.

Watching with horror, he saw bloodied people stumbling their way through the congested, wreckage filled streets, seeming to bumble about without meaning or purpose. There was a certain hopelessness in the way they moved, like they were horribly, horribly depressed, but Sam knew otherwise. Any normal person wouldn't just stumble their way around, seeming without a care in the world, even if they were injured in a rather grievous manner. Grimacing, Sam eyed some of the more disfigured people. People missing arms and even legs moved about, like their wounds didn't hurt at all. They hobbled along on bloody stumps, where their feet should have been without a second thought, which scared Sam.

If these things didn't feel pain, then even a blow to the chest with a baseball bat wouldn't affect them. Swearing, Sam put the blinds back down again, and tried to move his thoughts to another place. Finding that rather difficult, he decided that a talk with Bill about supplies would take his mind off those things outside. While in the process of leaving his apartment, he tried to think of a name to call the things. He couldn't just keep on calling them things, but the lack of a better word made that necessary. He decided to ask Bill, who always seemed to have an answer for everything.

Knocking on Bill's door, Sam glanced at his wrist watch. It was three forty two. In the afternoon. He had certainly overslept.

Bill opened the door and set down a plastic milk-crate he was apparently holding a moment earlier.

"Hey sleepy-head. What's up?"

"Hey Bill. Mind if I come in?"

Bill shrugged.

"I'm not busy." He said, closing the door behind them. Sam looked to the milk-crate.

"What's in the crate?"

"Oh, just a few things essential for my survival." He explained, as Sam looked over the crate. He spotted a toothbrush, toothpaste, a package of toilet paper and a six pack of booze.

"Ah. I see."

"You wanna sit down?" Asked Bill, picking the crate up, and itching his nose.

"Sure, why not."

The two men walked into Bill's Kitchen/Living room, and plopped down onto the couch.

"So… what's new for you? Heard anything from the love birds?"

"Not a peep. Hope they're ok."

Sam nodded.

"Have you tried raising anyone on your phone?"

"What's the problem with your cell?"

"Left it in my car, which is a block away, upside down."

"Aha. Little oversight there, eh Sammy?"

Sam nodded.

"I doubt we're gonna raise anyone Sam. Have you looked outside?"

"Yeah. Lookin' kinda grim out there."

"Yes, well burnt out cars, zombies and dark, black smoke aren't exactly something you'd put on a hallmark card."

Sam paused.

"Did you say… zombies?"

"Sure, that's what they are. Aren't they?"

Sam laughed.

"Aren't you being a bit premature here? Zombies?"

"Yep. What's your problem with my little assessment?"

Sam chuckled.

"Uh Bill, the last time I checked, zombies were fiction. Like vampires or aliens. How could those things down there be zombies?"

"How are you going to refute that they AREN'T zombies?"

"Um, because zombies aren't real?"

"Then what kind of explanation would you slap onto this?"

"Uh, well I dunno. Maybe it's a new drug. Like PCP, except much more potent."

"Oh Christ. Sam, Sam, Sam. You're pulling rabbits out of your ass now. A new drug?"

"Oooh, they're coming to get you Barbara!" Mocked Sam.

"Why won't you even accept the possibility that these things may be undead, flesh eating ghouls?"

Sam laughed.

"Look, it doesn't really matter what they are. The important thing is making sure that those things, whatever they may be, don't get inside our building. Alright? Now we need to stop arguing about these stupid, little details and focus on the matter at hand. Here's the situation as it stands. We're cut off from the outside world. We have no power inside the building, and we don't know what exactly happened in the last couple of days. I think that our main priorities right now should be to organize our food and water supplies into rations, and try and contact others, and try and figure out what the hell happened. Do you agree?" Asked Sam.

Bill sighed.

"Alright. I filled my tub full of water, so I'm ok in that department. I have ten cans of beans, eight cans of chili, and fourteen cans of tuna fish. Are you taking this down?" Asked Bill, scratching the tip of his nose.

Sam quickly nodded and produced a notepad and pen.

"So… you got ten beans, eight chili's, and fourteen tuna's?"

"Yep. How's your food situation?"

Sam flipped to a page in his notebook.

"Uh… I got eleven cans of chicken noodle, seven cans of tuna, three cans of beans, one can of sweet corn, and eight cans of clam chowder. Should we check out Molly's and Tim's food situation?"

Bill nodded.

"Ok. Jesus Sam. You must like canned goods."

Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, well…. Guess I do. I get… got some good deals on canned food at Safeway."

"Well, I think we should finish the perishable foods first. Then we start rationing. It's not gonna last very long in those refrigerators anyway. Besides, I've been thinking. The other apartments on our floor should have food. We should check them out. It's not like the original tenants are gonna care anymore."

"You're right. We might want to check out the upper levels for supplies too. We only barricaded the stairs leading downstairs. We can still go up. For all we know, there are other people up there too."

"Shit, you could be right. But first things first. Let's check out the Tim and Molly's food situation first. Then we'll check things out up front."

"Then what are we sitting around here for?"

The two men got up from the couch, and exited Bill's apartment. Sam knocked on Tim's door, and waited. Molly answered.

"Hey guys. What's up?" She asked.

"We're taking log of all our food. This whole thing may blow over soon, but then again it may not. It's better to be on the safe side."

Molly nodded.

"The most sensible thing I've heard all day. You guys want to come in?"

Sam looked to Bill, and shrugged.

"Eh, alright."

The two men stepped inside, and Molly closed the door behind them.

"You guys have been kinda quiet since yesterday. Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Damn power still doesn't work though."

"Have you seen the streets?" Asked Sam, with a worried look on his face.

"No, I haven't looked. Why, what's down there?"

"Oh, only the bloodthirsty undead cannibals." Said Bill in a very blunt sort of way, as he plopped down onto Tim's couch.

Molly frowned.

"Bloodthirsty, Undead cannibals? That's an interesting way of describing them."

Sam chuckled.

"Yeah, well Bill is convinced that they're zombies."

"Oh shit, not this again." Said Bill, scratching his beard.

"Where's Tim?" Asked Sam, changing the subject.

"Counting all of our canned food. He overheard you guys talking about it, and thought it might be a good idea."

"Well, actually, that's what we're here about. Bill and I thought it might be a good idea if we pool our food and water together. We ration it, make it last as long as possible."

"Sounds good, but…"

"But what?"

"But how long are you guys expecting this whole thing to last?"

Sam looked to Bill nervously, and then looked to Molly.

"Molly, what happens if this whole thing doesn't just 'blow over'? What if it never does?"

Molly's smile faded quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"What if, the government doesn't just pick itself up again? What if the mail doesn't start delivering again? What if the power doesn't come back on? What then? What will we do?"

"I…I don't know. I didn't think of it in that way."

"Well that's the way we're going to have to start thinking. When the plumbing shits out, we're going to have to start rationing water and using chamber pots. It's quite simple really."

"Let's hope it doesn't turn out that way." Molly hoped.

"Yeah, lets, but it would be foolish of us to not expect it." Finished Bill.

Tim entered the living room carrying several bottles of water. Surprised to see the others inside, he set them down onto the coffee table.

"Hi guys. What's going on?"

"Bill and I thought it would be a good idea if we all pooled our food and water together. We gather food and water from the unoccupied apartments, and start rationing once we run out of perishables."

Tim nodded.

"Yeah, I heard you guys talking about that earlier. Are we sure we're the only ones in the building?"

"Not exactly. On this floor we are, but I'm not so sure about the upper or lower floors." Explained Sam, scratching his ear.

"Ok. We already barricaded the stairs leading downstairs, so it would be silly to take out our first line of defense against those… those…" Tim struggled for the right word.

"Zombies?" Offered Bill.

"Oh Christ… Again with the zombies!" Exclaimed Sam, throwing his hands into the air.

"Let's not get into that again." Stated Molly, rolling her eyes, and looking back to Tim.

"Okaaay…. But the upper floors should be ours for the taking, assuming that nobody else is up there. If so, we shouldn't have any problems."

"And if there is a person or people up there?" Posed Bill.

Sam bit his lip and looked to Tim.

"Then we may have a problem." Sighed Tim, as he sat down next to Molly.

"Uh-huh. How much food do you have?" Asked Bill.

"Well, lots of perishables unfortunately. The good news is that we have a couple boxes of energy bars, and plenty of potatoes. While they're still perishable, potatoes last a while. We should be ok."

Sam nodded, biting his lip and jotting it down.

"How many potatoes exactly?" Sam asked, taping the end of his pen on the notepad.

"Uh… twenty five. And three boxes of bars."

Sam nodded, and scribbled some more on his notepad. Tearing the sheet out of the binding, he put his reading glasses on.

"Alright. Now if we don't use much energy every day… I'd say we'd be able to eat and drink about… a pint and a meal the size of a sandwich every day for…. three, maybe four weeks if we really stretched it."

"That's not a lot of food."

"You're right, but the more energy we expend, the more calories our body burn. Now, it's pretty bad when you have no more remaining calories inside your body. You slowly start to shut down, and the result isn't very pretty. Have any of you heard of the rule of three?"

Bill frowned.

"The rule of three?"

"Yeah, the rule of three. The average adult human being can survive three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food. While food should be a major concern of ours, water is bigger. Most doctors don't recommend eating anything if you didn't have water or some other healthy beverage to drink. That means if we run out of water before we do food, we're in a very bad spot."

"What's the problem? We have lots of booze."

"It's not a good idea to drink alcohol without being well hydrated. It dehydrates you." Said Tim, taking a sip of water.

"Well guys, this is nice and all, but don't you think we should gather food from other apartments before we start planning out our rations? We have only checked our apartments. There's still this floor, and four floors above us. That's a lot of food." Said Molly, raising her eyebrow.

"She's right guys. There's still a lot of food in this building. Enough to last a while."

"Ok. Here's a plan. One of us goes up to the roof and climbs the antenna to try and see if we can get a cell or radio signal. We go through all of the emergency listings, and try to contact somebody. If we're lucky, we'll be able to pick up some sort of signal. If we're really lucky, maybe we can actually raise somebody." Suggested Tim.

"I call dibs on that job." Quickly said Bill, always eager to do jobs not requiring much physical labor.

"Ok. But you have to go through all the emergency numbers and frequencies. And I mean ALL of them Bill. I don't want you half-assing like you usually do. Comprende?"

Bill nodded.

"Yeah, totally."

"Alright. You'd better go do what you need to do."

Bill left Tim and Molly's apartment to go into his. Retrieving his cell phone, he checked out the battery. Only half remained. Swearing, he tried the phone. Selecting one of the emergency call numbers that had been recorded earlier, he pressed the call button. The words 'No Signal' flashed across the screen.

He swore.

He tried again, but only got the same answer. Thinking that reception might have been the issue, he left his apartment to go up to the roof, where he bumped into Sam.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"The roof. I can't get a signal from inside the building."

"Well, cell phone reception inside the building has always been a little shoddy. It could work. That is if the cell towers are powered separately from the rest of the city."

"Lets hope so. You got the walkie-talkie?" Asked Bill, as the two men climbed the stairs to the top.

"It's right here." Said Sam taking the small, yellow radio out of his pocket. It was slightly larger than a cell phone.

"If you do raise somebody, then I'd keep conversation to a minimum. We have limited power on this phone. And when it runs out… well, then we're on our own."

"There's got to be another cell phone in this building." Said Bill.

"Yeah, maybe. Your phone is famous for working all the time though. Plus, my cell is in the car down in the parking garage. Molly and Tim don't own a cell phone between them."

"No shit? No cell phone. Wow, that's really quite amazing."

"Yeah, I know. Apparently, they think that it's an invasion of privacy."

"So say we all." Mused Bill as they reached the door to the roof.

"I don't know about you, but the land lady I rented my apartment from didn't issue me keys to the roof." Said Bill.

Smiling, Sam spoke.

"I'm sure we can figure something out."

"Y'know, I've been thinking. There could be other people down on the lower floors."

Bill nodded.

"Yeah, but are you sure you want to let them in onto our own level?"

Sam looked at him with a strange look in his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well… do you know what caused this whole mess?"

"Well… no, but I'm sure someone does."

"Uh-huh. Don't you think that it's a little strange that a huge zombie riot starts all over the world, for no apparent reason?"

"Christ, not the zombies again. Well, what if it wasn't a riot at all. Maybe some kind of medical thing?"

"What, like AIDs or Ebola?"

"No, not a disease. Like a virus or something."

"Well, that's nice and all, but how could a virus cause all this? I think it was a military or government thing. Maybe this is the end of times. The point is, we're not scientists, and unless we find one, I highly doubt we're gonna figure out what happened. Alright, here goes nothing."

Taking a deep breath, Bill backed up and prepared to charge into the door. Sam stopped him.

"Wait… what are you doing?"

Bill looked at him like he was insane.

"Uh, breaking the door down?"

Sam chuckled, and undid the deadbolt. With a simple push, he opened the door.

"See? Sometimes the gentle approach works."

"Yeah, yeah you smartass." Said Bill, as the two men walked out onto the roof. It was still in the wee hours of the morning, and the sky hadn't yet begun to brighten. Sam clicked his powerful flashlight on, illuminating their path as gravel crunched under their feet.

Bill removed his phone from his pocket, and tried again.

"I got something." He said. Sam rushed to his side.

"How many bars?"

"Only one. But we're certainly got a signal."

Sam nodded.

"Alright. Move around, see if you can get more bars."

"Alright. What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna check out the situation on the street."

"Why, are hoping to signal someone?"

"Maybe. If I can spot somebody. Do you have any roman candles left over from the Fourth?"

"Do I ever! They're in the white, cardboard box at the bottom of my closet. Why, are you trying to make smoke signals?"

"In a manner of speaking…." Said Sam, running back into the building.

Bill looked around the roof for a place he could make a call. The higher he could get, the better, so he eyed the antenna array in the corner. It had to be at least thirty feet tall, so it would probably provide a great place to get a better signal. Only problem was getting to the top of the damn thing.

Swearing, he pocketed the phone and jogged over to the array. There was a small ladder at the base of the antenna, so he decided to climb it. Doing his best NOT to look down at the ground below, he took out the phone as soon as he reached the top.

The other day, when the TV was displaying the locations of rescue stations around the city, Bill had taken down the phone numbers of the stations into his phone. Opening the digital address book, he picked the number for the FEMA station at the train station. Pressing call, he dialed the number. He got a dial tone, but no one answered.

Swearing, he tried another number. This time a mobile Army task force. No answer. Swearing again, he continued trying numbers. But he kept coming up empty. At all the numbers he tried, either there was no dial tone, or nobody answered. He was going to give up, but decided that one last call wouldn't hurt. This time he dialed a shopping mall at which a civil rescue station had been established.

This time, he got a reply.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" He asked, losing hope.

About to hang up, he nearly dropped the phone when he heard a reply.

"Hello? Is someone there?" Said the phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Part three: Finale

Bill brought the phone back up to his ear, and smiled.

"YES. You're the first person I've raised." Said Bill with a musical chuckle. If he hadn't have raised anyone, he would have been crushed.

"Oh thank god. We were starting to think that we were the only ones."

Bill frowned. After only a couple of days?

"We lost power in our building. Can you tell us what happened?"

"It's bloodbath city man. Everyone's gone. The police, the National Guard, the guys in biohazard suits. There's nobody left man."

"In three days? I don't get it. What happened to everyone?"

"What rock have you been under? Those things... They killed them. They killed them all."

"Who? Who killed them all? The rioters? Was it a new drug?"

"What the hell are you talking about? They aren't rioters. They're…. something else entirely."

"I don't understand. Was it a medical concern?"

"Maybe. We're not the CDC guys. They had a couple of ideas to what they were, but it was all best guess. We really have no idea of knowing. It's a moot point now. All those guys got overrun."

"What happened?"

"The police, the Army, FEMA and some civil volunteers tried to hold the line. Fat lot of good that did. Using tear gas and rubber bullets against them. Insanity. Pure insanity. The whole thing lasted about twenty minutes. Then it was all over."

"I don't get it. The Army has tanks and machine guns. The police have SWAT armor and trucks. How did they get overrun?"

"These Army guys didn't bring tanks with them. It was deemed by the powers that be in the state government that footage of tanks rolling on our own soil would be too demoralizing or some bullshit like that. Those tanks are probably still sitting at the base. When the government figured out that they really needed them, it was too late. There wasn't anyone left to drive them, or go get them for that matter."

"So, what organization are you part of?"

"Well, I'm a civil volunteer. So are the others with me. What's your name?"

"Bill. Yours?"

"Jack. Tell me something Bill, are you armed?"

"With what, guns?"

"Yeah."

"No. Not to my knowledge. The most dangerous thing we have in our building is a baseball bat. Are you?"

"We have a couple of guns. Listen, you have to hit them in the head."

"The head? Why the head?"

"We don't know. We shot a couple of the things in the chest with the twelve gauge, but they just shrugged it off like it was nothing. We aimed a bit higher, and boom. They seem to go down permanently if you just hit them in the head."

"Alright. Anything else we should know?"

"You know what we know now. By the way, where are you located?"

"I'm with three other people in our apartment building off of First street. Where are you?"

"First street? We're down at the mall across the freeway. Can you signal us?"

"Why? You think we have line of sight?"

"Maybe. You have a way to signal us?"

"My friend just went down to his room to get some Roman candles left over from the forth of July. We'll launch those. Do you have binoculars?"

"Yeah. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, with the power out and all, I can't recharge the battery on my phone. It's about seven eight's spent, so when it's gone, we're not gonna have a way to talk to each other. Plus, even if I did have a way to recharge it, the cell towers are going to crap out eventually. You have a dry erase board and some markers?"

"I'm sure we can locate one. Why, do you want to write messages to each other, and see them through binoculars."

"Yep. I just need to get my pair. I'll meet you in a little bit. Say, five minutes?"

"Ok. You're launching Roman candles?"

"Yeah. You should be able to see them from here."

"If you are where I think you are, yes."

Bill slowly climbed down the ladder, and was met by Sam, Roman Candles in tow.

"There are some people at the mall. Can you try and find a dry erase board and some markers? I'm gonna try and find my pair of binoculars."

"Alright. What's the situation outside?"

"It's bad. Everyone's dead."

"What about the rioters?"

"They're not rioters. You know how we were talking about a virus earlier? Well, these guys are pretty sure that it's the case."

"Huh, a virus. Even the Army's gone?"

"Everyone's dead man. They're the only people I've been able to raise. All of the other numbers were useless."

Sam nodded.

"Ok. Who are they? Police? National Guard? Or just civilians like us?"

"They say that they're civilian disaster workers. Volunteers apparently. They had been assigned to the Mall by FEMA as some sort of rescue station. With medical supplies and other goodies. They got cut off from everyone else, which pretty much saved their lives. Everyone thought they were dead, so they were ignored."

"Alright. I'll go get those things you wanted. I'll be back in a second." Said Sam, running back inside. Bill climbed back up to the top of the array and spoke to the others.

"The battery on my phone is nearly drained. I don't have a lot of time, so lets make this quick. In one minute, I'm going to launch a single roman candle from the roof of our building. Do you have your binoculars out?"

"Yeah. One minute you say?"

"Uh-huh. Be ready."

"Will do."

"Oh, one more thing. Jack, I need you to-"

Bill's phone beeped. Bringing it away from his mouth, he looked at the display.

No battery. Shit.

Bill pocketed the now defunct phone and climbed down the ladder. Removing a pack of matches from his pocket, he readied a Roman candle for launching. Once it was set up, he glanced at his watch, and then looked out towards the mall. Once it was time, he struck the match, and lit the fuse to the firework. Stepping away from it, he found cover behind the stairwell shed.

The fuse burnt out, and the powder inside the rocket combusted, launching it into the air. Bill covered his ears from the high pitched sound that followed. As soon as the coast was clear, he made his way out into the open, and waved his arms rapidly. Sam burst through the doors soon after, carrying his telescope under one arm and a dry erase board under the other. While Sam assembled the telescope, Bill wrote a message into the board. Holding it up into the air, he took a sigh of relief.

After Sam assembled the telescope a little while later, Bill peered through it, towards the roof of the mall. A tall, lanky man holding up a sign smiled. There were two others with him. A shorter, bearded man in a leather jacket held a large pair of observation binoculars stood by him looking directly at Sam and Bill. A rugged looking woman in military fatigues holding an evil looking rifle wasn't too far away from them.

Bill's message read: Can you see me now?

The reply read: Perfect.

Bill smiled, and scribbled down some more onto the dry erase board.

The next morning….

Bill and Sam stood on the roof of the building, with Sam manning the telescope and Bill writing the messages.

"Can we get to them?" Asked Sam, peering through the lens.

"Have you seen the streets outside? They're completely clogged with burned out cars, broken glass, and those infected folks. Nothing in the parking garage, short of a tank or monster truck, is going to get through those streets."

"Wait a minute, do those guys have transport?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask."

"Ask 'em. If they've got transport, see if they can come to us. If not, we'll figure something else."

"Ok. I'll get on it."

"Do you have transport?" He wrote onto the board, and then held it up.

"More or less. FEMA gave us van." Came the reply, as Sam read it.

Bill nodded.

"If we give info, can you get here?" He wrote, erasing the previous message.

"Sounds risky." Read Sam.

"How good at driving?" Held up Bill.

"Ok. Parking?"

"Yep. Underground."

"Can you get to it?"

"I think so."

"Tell us where your building is."

"Corner of First and Pine."

"Ok. We might make it."

Jack erased the message, and wrote a new one.

"Launch candles?"

Sam turned to Bill.

"What does he mean by 'Launch Candles'?"

"He wants to have a point of reference by launching our Roman Candles."

"Yeah, I think we can do that. What kind of intervals should we launch them on?"

"Well, that's dependant on how many Roman Candles you have left."

Bill checked the box

"Eight. Eight Roman candles." Said Bill

"A candle every two minutes sounds about right." Said Sam.

"Always the accountant." Said Bill, scribbling another message.

"Is there a sporting goods shop?"

"Yes. Need something?" Came back the reply.

"Check for weapons. Bring them." He wrote, and then held over his head.

"What side of building garage at?"

"North side."

"Alright. Be down there?"

"Yes. # of people with you?"

"Three."

"Gotta get 2 work. Leave tomorrow 6 PM?"

"Alright. Good luck."

"Same 2 you buddy."

The following day…

Bill prepared to launch the roman candles. The sky was now a shade of light blue, and the city was much more visible. Columns of smoke that had rose above the city several days earlier had no disappeared, and the destruction that had taken place was quite obvious.

"Sam, I need you to go down to the parking lot. Make sure that the door is open for them when they get here. Alright?"

Sam nodded.

"What if those things are down there? How will I protect myself?"

Bill picked up the baseball bat, and threw it to him.

"How 'bout it?"

Sam nodded.

"Ok. Let's hope this works."

"Yeah."

Sam left to go downstairs, leaving Bill to himself. Setting up all eight Roman Candles, he got a match ready, and looked off towards the mall. Kneeling, he put the match to the fuse, and ran for cover. Taking cover behind the stairwell shed like the last time, he plugged his ears as the first a Roman candle went off into the sky, providing those at the mall with a beacon.

Nervously, he counted the minutes until he launched the next candle.

Meanwhile, down in the stairwell….

Sam ran down the stairs to get to the small parking garage directly under the building. He was a little skeptical about the whole plan, but was glad to see that there were other people still alive. Clambering over the barricade, he made his way further down the stairs. Panting, he reminded himself that the garage was the very last level. Getting his key to the door ready, his grip on the bat tightened. He really hoped that none of those things were down there.

Back up on the roof….

Bill peered down at the mall through the telescope. Jack had left, and he along with his companions had boarded a white cargo van. Driving as fast as they could to avoid being caught by the creatures, Bill could hear gunshots, even from as far away as he was. Preparing another Roman Candle, he launched it into the air. The guys in the van were getting a lot closer, and Sam might have needed help downstairs, so Bill abandoned his post on the roof, and ran into the stairwell shack.

In the garage…

WHAM!

Sam hit one of the creatures in the chest with the baseball bat, sending it off it's feet. Earlier, he had discovered that there were half a dozen of the things down there, and he had been trying to make his way to the garage door opener. But the creatures had been making that rather simple task rather difficult.

Gritting his teeth, he swung at the head of one of the zombies slowly advancing towards him, downing it instantly. Blood splattered across his face, and he nearly threw up. Wiping off some of it with his hand, he went back to the task at hand. Running for the garage door opener at the other side of the parking garage, he panted. There couldn't be many of those things left down there, and if there were, the civil volunteer guys had a couple of guns with them. They could shoot the damn things, instead of having to beam them in the face with a big stick.

Nearly there, he was tackled by a zombie moving parallel to him. He bat slid across the floor, just out of his reach. Trying his best to push the zombie of the top of him with his right arm, he reached for the bat with his other. Above him, the zombie's jaws gnashed violently in midair. He couldn't hold it off much longer.

Then Bill burst through the stairwell doors, brandishing a table leg.

"Bill! A little help would be nice!" Sam hollered out in desperation.

Bill nodded, and ran over to where Sam was pinned down. Kicking the zombie off of Sam, Bill ran the table leg through the thing's head. It fell limp to the ground, now completely harmless.

Getting up to his feet, Sam grabbed the baseball bat from the ground, and motioned Bill to follow him.

"How far away are they?" Sam asked, rubbing his neck.

"Not far. Not far at all."

"How will we know when they're here?"

"Yeah, they said that they'll honk."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure! SHIT!"

The remaining zombies inside the parking garage advanced on Sam and Bill. Looking to the fire axe inside a red box mounted on the wall, Bill threw away his table leg and took the axe. Looking to Sam, he spoke.

"Look, make sure you open the door for them. I'll watch your back."

Sam nodded.

"Ok man. Be careful."

"Yeah, yeah." Said Bill, charging a zombie, and swinging at it with all his might. The axe connected with the zombie's neck, severing off the head.

He looked around for another attacker, and charged at the last two in the garage. Yelling out with anger, he smashed the face of the zombie in with the blunt end of the ax, sending it backwards onto it's ass. The other zombie charged Bill, just as he was in mid-swing.

Crunch. The sound of human bones breaking could be heard as the axe swung into the zombie's chest. Bill tried to get the axe out, but it was stuck, lodged in the ribcage of a very pissed off dead guy.

Suddenly, both men heard the sound of a car horn honking at the garage door. Sam acted quickly, and opened the door. The white transport van zoomed inside the garage, and came to a screeching halt. The man that had earlier identified himself as Jack got out of the driver's seat of the van, wielding a shotgun.

"CLOSE THE GODDAMN DOOR!" He yelled to Sam, who nodded, and pressed the button to close it. Outside, the lower halves of zombies moving towards the door could be seen, trying to get through before it closed. One of the creatures tried crawling underneath the closing door, but he was too late. The heavy, metal door came down on top of 'his' body, pinning him under as the door cut him into two pieces.

Jack pumped his shotgun, and took aim at the zombie that Bill had just knocked backwards. Firing, the zombie's head exploded like a melon as the buckshot hit him. It stirred no more. Directing his attention to the axe zombie, he pumped another shell into the chamber and fired, hitting the thing in the chest and knocking it backwards. When it hit the ground, it began twitching like he was having a serious seizure.

"Twitcher. I hate twitchers." Uttered Jack, taking a drag from a cigarette in his mouth, and then shooting the zombie directly in the forehead from about two feet away, creating a nasty mess on the floor.

"Christ!" Yelled Sam, seeing the severed zombie trying to pitifully inch it's way towards the others, despite losing three fifths of it's body.

Jack simply groaned, and shot it dead.

"Dumbass. How are you guys doing?" He asked, flicking the safety back into the on position on his gun. The two others that Sam and Bill had seen on the roof got out of the back of the van, both looking kind of shook up.

"Not great considering. Yourself?"

"It's nice to see other people. You sure this place is secure?"

Bill nodded.

"There are as sure as hell no more of those things down here if that's what you mean."

Jack nodded.

"We got some stuff from the sporting goods shop that you just may be interested in. Lemme show you." Said Jack, pulling a brown cardboard box out of the back of the van. Opening it, he took out a hunting crossbow, mint in the box.

"Got plenty more where that came from too, and not just those. You like machetes at all?"

"Any more guns?"

Jack shook his head.

"Sorry. Just bows and blades. Nothing too fancy. We don't have a whole lot of ammunition for the guns we DO have anyway."

"Well, it's better than what we got. How many arrows did you bring along?"

"Each one of those crossbows comes with ten. With the regular bows, a little more."

Bill nodded.

"Well, let's bring this stuff up. Looks like you guys could use a solid meal. You hungry?"

Later, during dinner…

The tenets had prepared a meal consisting of potatoes warmed over an open fire (made on the roof of course), warmed chowder, and beef jerky for the newcomers, who hadn't seen substinance that hadn't come from a fast food restaurant in a couple of days.

"Sorry we couldn't make something better. With the power out and all, it's a bit difficult to cook something really interesting." Said Tim, Cooling a spoonful of chowder.

"Oh, we don't mind. Trust me, having to eat frozen cheeseburgers isn't my idea of a great meal. This is brilliant. Now bear with me for a moment. I sense something in the chowder. What is it? Chili pepper?" Asked Gene, one of the newcomers.

Molly shook her head.

"Nope. Cayenne pepper. You like it?"

Gene nodded in agreement.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Adds a little zing to the clams. Who came up with it?"

Tim raised his hand.

"I did." He said, rather bluntly before continuing with his food.

Gene smiled.

"How'd you come up with it?"

"Uh, it just sorta popped up. I was cooking it on the stove one day, and bam! Why not put it in the chowder? So I did. It couldn't have hurt. Alas, a masterpiece was born… You'd be surprised how many different kinds of food you can put the stuff on. Pizza, potatoes, steak, noodles, rice, etc. The whole nine yards. It's the new Ketchup."

Bill looked to the new woman (judging on her Army fatigues, she was probably military), whom he thought was rather good looking, and smiled in a very cheesy, almost eighties sleazy car salesman sort of way.

"Hey, my name's Bill."

The woman simply looked up from her food to give him a cursory glance, nodded, and went back to her food. Bill was undeterred.

"So, what's your name?"

The woman didn't even look up this time.

"Alice."

Bill nodded, still smiling like an idiot.

"So… Alice…. What do you like do for fun? You like to party?"

Sam buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"No. I like to work." Said the woman.

Bill thought of something to say, and continued with his swagger.

"The only thing that looks good on me is you baby."

Sam gritted his teeth, and kicked Bill from under the table. Unfortunately, Bill had the memory of a goldfish.

Jack, doing his best to change the mood, pulled up his pack to his seat, and opened it. Once inside, he removed a waterproof map of the city and the surrounding area, which had been given to him by FEMA.

"Ok folks, here's our situation as stands… We're cut off from the chain of command, the power is out, and those things are in the streets. What are we gonna do?"

"Well, we've already gotten a lot of food together. We allotted it for four people, and it would have lasted us a couple of months. But with the addition of three more people, it'll last a lot less longer than that." Said Sam.

Jack nodded.

"This building. Is it safe? Have you boarded up and dug in?"

Molly nodded.

"That stuff you saw in the hall was in case we needed to block the door. Nothing short of a tank or bulldozer could get through that kind of obstacle." She finished.

Bill groaned in pain, clutching his wrist. The others, who were alerted, abandoned their conversation to attend to him.

"What's the matter?" Asked Sam, scratching his stubble.

"Oh, nothing. Damn those fuckers bite hard…" Said Bill, revealing a bloodied wound on his arm that he had been covering up with his now bloodied sleeve.

"Holy shit… That looks bad. That looks really bad." Repeated Tim, looking the bite over.

Jack's face changed from a smile to a look of disdain.

"Well, that settles it."

The others looked to him, a puzzling look on all their faces.

"What settles it? What are you talking about?" Asked Molly.

"He's been bitten. It's only a matter of time before he turns into one of those things outside. We have to deal with him…"

Sam looked confused.

"Wait a minute. You mean kill him?"

Jack nodded. Standing up from his seat, he removed a bright red shotgun shell from one of his vest pockets. Inserting it into the breech, he cocked the gun.

"Yeah. That's what I mean."

"Woah there! Can I have a say in this matter?" Asked a somewhat panicked Bill.

One of the newcomers swore. Jack started to explain.

"I saw the exact same thing happen to half a dozen people. Once you're bitten, you have a little while before you turn. They always turn."

"First off, you're not gonna kill him. I don't know who the hell you think you are, but blowing my best friend's head off isn't something I'll stand for." Said Sam, throwing his napkin onto his plate, and standing up to defy Jack.

"Tell me something Sam. Once your buddy turns, do you really want him in here?"

"Well, frankly I don't know if I should trust you. I've only known you for a couple of days, and that wasn't even in person. I've known Bill since Grammar school. What the hell gives you the right to decide who lives and dies?"

"As long as that man is infected, I have the right to self defense. I'm exercising that right." Said Jack, his grip on the weapon tightening.

"Well fuck that! You're not gonna go shooting my friends on a whim. Not gonna happen man."

Jack turned around to face Sam.

"Oh really? I'm the one that's armed."

"Is that a threat?" Asked Sam, picking up the fire ax that was propped up against the wall.

"You bet your ass it is. I'm not letting one guy kill us all. This is for the good of the group. He has to die."

"And if I don't let you, you'll shoot me?"

Jack nodded. Sam's grip on the fire ax tightened even more.

"Alice, take the axe from him." Said Jack, not even looking at her.

Alice slowly took a few steps closer to Sam, and outstretched her hand, nervously.

"Give me the ax Sam."

Sam's eyes shifted.

"No-fucking-way." Said Sam, his gaze directly on Jack.

"Please… Just give me the ax." Pleaded the woman.

Gritting his teeth, Sam took action. Grabbing the woman's hand, he held her in front of him, and put the ax to her neck. Jack brought the gun to his shoulder.

"Sam… let her go…."

"And then what? Let you kill someone I care about?"

"Try to understand that in a couple of minutes he won't be somebody. He'll just be another one of those mindless fucking stiffs."

"Yeah, yeah. Put down your gun, or she gets it."

Jack didn't waver.

"Am I speaking Greek? DO IT GODDAMMIT!"

Jack lowered his gun, and set it down onto the table. Pleased, Sam let Alice go.

"Now…. Walk towards the door, with your hands up where I can see them."

Reluctantly, Jack did so. Letting go of Alice, he dove for the shotgun. Bringing it up to his shoulder, he gritted his teeth as he spoke.

"Alright then. Bill, tie 'em up."

"With what?"

"I don't know. Go look for something." Said Sam, not glancing away from Jack.

"What's your plan?" He asked his captor.

"What do you mean?"

"When he turns, what are you going to do? Lock him in a room. Try and reason with him? Seriously, is that what you have planned?"

"Shut it!" Yelled Sam, his grip on the gun tightening.

"Look. I'm on your side. I know what you're going through. At first, I didn't think much of this infection… this virus. But then Roger died. That was a little weird, considering he had been bitten in the shin. There wasn't much blood loss, and he died about twenty minutes after it happened. Now that was really weird. You see, it takes a long time to bleed out, especially if the wound isn't that bad. And so I asked myself, why did that happen?"

"I'm warning you…"

"I thought it was nothing until Stacey died too. Bit in the hand. Took her only ten minutes to pass away. Still, I thought it was a coincidence. But, then Frank was bitten. This time, it was really, really messy. He got jumped by three of them. He just managed to get away. I'm not sure how he did it, seeing as those things tore several chunks out of him, including his jugular, I bet the pain started to dull as his body began to shut down."

"Last chance…."

"It was then when I realized what was going on. It's a viral infection of some sort. That was given. The CDC guys said so in their last transmission. It all began to make a bit of sense in a creepy sort of way. It's a little like AIDs or HIV I suppose. The virus travels from the stiffs' saliva into your blood stream. It only kills you when it gets to your brain stem. That's why it took 'em longer to die if the bite was in the extremities. The infected blood cells need time to travel up to the heart, get re-oxygenized, and sent to the brain. The infection kills the bite victim, and in a little while… presto. Walking corpse."

Sam lowered the shotgun. He hated to admit it. He really did. But Jack was right. It made sense. It perfect sense.

"What do you want to do?" He asked, turning the safety back onto the gun, and setting it down onto the table.

"There's only one thing to do. We have to kill him."

A single tear came streaming down out of Sam's eye. He nodded, and handed the man's gun back to him. He accepted, and cocked it. Exiting the room, Jack and Sam looked around for Bill. They found him rummaging through cabinets for something to tie the others up with.

"Bill." Said a solemn Sam, trying to keep his gameface on.

Bill turned around, and was surprised to see Jack standing there with him.

"What's he doing there?"

"Bill…."

"You here to kill me, aren't you?"

Sam gritted his teeth, and nodded.

"Yeah…"

Bill bit his lip.

"Alright, it's that easy then?" He said with a sigh.

"Look, this isn't what I wanted. You've gotta believe me."

"I cannot believe that you're trusting the word of a total stranger to kill me. We don't even know if their intentions were good when we invited them into our homes. Now they're saying that one of us is infected, and I have to die? Please, I don't have time for this lord of the flies bullshit. Now, if you'll just excuse me-"

Sam cocked the shotgun, bringing it up to his shoulder. The weapon aimed directly at the center of Sam's rib cage.

"So this is how this is gonna be, eh?"

"I'm-I'm really sorry about this whole thing. If there was any other way, then…"

"Well…. What the hell… I've got nothing to lose now. My best friend in the whole world is aiming a gun at me. Guess I have no choice now, eh?"

Sam nodded.

"Where do you want to do this?" Asked Jack.

"The roof. It's no use making a mess in here." Said Bill, glancing around the kitchen.

"Alright, lets go." Said Sam, ushering his friend out of the apartment, with Jack in tow. Opening the door to the stairwell, the three men climbed the stairs to the roof. When the reached it, Jack closed the door behind them. Bill walked a short distance away and kneeled on the ground, facing the sunset. Jack turned to Sam.

"Do you want to be the one that pulls the trigger?"

"No. I couldn't do it."

Jack nodded.

"If you're not gonna do it, then it might be best if you went away. This may get a bit graphic. If you see him…."

"Yeah, I know."

Patting him on the back, Jack tried to comfort the man. Sam simply slipped away, and went back down the stairs. Closing the door, Jack flicked the safety off the gun, and slowly advanced towards Bill, who still kneeled in the gravel, watching the sunset.

"How do you want me to do this?"

"Wait til' afterwards. This sunset is uh… quite a sight."

Jack slowly nodded.

"Do me a favor. Don't get everyone killed, ok?"

"Alright. I'll try not to."

"And uh, one more thing."

"Shoot."

"Tell… tell… what's her name again?"

"Alice?" Offered Jack.

"Yeah… Tell Alice that's she's got a nice bum."

And with that note, Bill's head hung forward. Jack took aim with his gun, and put pressure onto the trigger as soon as he had a bead on Bill's head. Sighing, beads of sweat dribbled down his face.

A beat, and the dead man awoke.

A sound of thunder….

The End, for now….

I'd like to thank the following people for being a large source of inspiration in writing this. Wasn't easy…

George Romero

Zack Snyder

Stephen King

Steve Carrell

And many, many others….


End file.
